


(This Isn't Really) Surviving

by Neffectual



Series: sweet prometheus 'verse [2]
Category: World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: Angst, Heartbreak, Kayfabe Compliant, M/M, Reconciliation, after Survivor Series, sweet prometheus outtake
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-23
Updated: 2016-10-26
Packaged: 2018-05-03 00:28:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,950
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5269700
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Neffectual/pseuds/Neffectual
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Survivor Series. Roman is sinking. Sweet Prometheus outtake.<br/>Subtitle: "Sad blowjob?" "The saddest."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This starts where [sweet prometheus: chapter 15](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4959184/chapters/18770194) leaves off!

On his back in the middle of the ring, in the strewn mess of the confetti, Roman lies still, eyes closed, doesn’t let himself look up at Triple H and Sheamus above him, doesn’t even react when Sheamus puts a foot on his chest. He lost. He had the title, just a few short seconds ago it was his, his win, and Dean had kissed his cheek and head in front of everyone, Dean had said in the interview that he loved him, Dean had given him the fight of his life and lost, and had still nuzzled his hair and said ‘that’s my boy’ before leaving the ring to give Roman his time in the spotlight. And a few moments later, he’s rolling slightly, Sheamus kicking at him with no real malice, just disdain. Roman rolls over to watch them leave, but can’t, puts his head down on his arm, knows he’s crying, the cameras won’t get out of his face and he can’t stop the tears coming. It's too close to WrestleMania, too close to Seth runing into a fight he had no business being a part of and ripping away the title. He's supposed to be over that by now, he thinks, but here, lying on the canvas with his hair full of damp confetti, he can feel his heart breaking, can feel a chair in his back, and he's momentarily glad Seth is out injured.

He pulls himself to his feet, eventually, the tears making his eyes sting and the back of his throat tingle with unsaid sobs, and as he tries to remember how to leave the ring, they boo him. The crowd boos him, now, in the lowest moment of his life, and he can’t even manage to get angry. He’s just empty, a well of hurt opening up underneath him and he can’t breathe for how much it makes him want to scream, makes him want to break down on his knees, but he knows he can’t do that here, not right now. Out of the ring, one step at a time; he grips a kid’s hand out of habit and knows his fingers are clammy, before he sees the men behind the kid grinning, their hands held in thumbs down, and has to pull away, staggering up the ramp, already loosening the straps on his vest, because it feels like he can’t breathe, like all the air has been pulled out of him.

“There’s a phone call for you.” Someone says at his elbow once he’s out of eyeshot, and he just pulls his vest off, then the tank beneath it, and drops them behind him, jaw set because he’s not going to fucking cry when Sheamus and Triple H are just over the other side of the room, smiling and laughing. He hopes he cracked on of the bastard’s ribs.

“Tell my mom I’m not here.” He says, like anyone’s going to believe that.

“It’s – not her.” The nameless stagehand says, and Roman looks at her before taking the phone handset.

“What.” He says, not even asking the question, just a statement that he doesn’t want to deal with this shit as he starts walking towards the dressing room, head down.

“That was bullshit.”

Roman freezes. He wants to scream, wants to fling the phone at someone, wants a hot bath and to pretend the last hour of his life never happened. What he doesn’t want to do is talk to Seth, Seth who wrote the book on cashing in to win that title, the title that Roman thought he was going to finally get to hold, only to have it ripped away from him. His lover might be trying to help, but right now, the nasal whine to his voice is too much like hearing Seth call them business partners.

“You did the same goddamn thing.” He grinds out when he can move again, and keeps heading away from where everyone’s congratulating Sheamus for being a sly bastard, “Don’t start with this shit right now, Seth, I can’t – “ His voice cracks, and he stops talking. He will not break down in the corridor. A few tears are fine, but the sobbing can’t happen, not right now.

“Not like that.” Seth says, and he sounds like his voice is raw from shouting at the tv, “That was bullshit, Ro, that belt was yours, you should’ve been lording it over me on twitter right now, holding onto it so we could fight for it when I came back. That wasn’t his victory to take.”

Roman grunts something that might be agreement as he pushes his way into the dressing room he shares with Dean, and hears the shower running.

“Is Dean there?” Seth asks, like he’s got any fucking right, as if he hasn't been ignoring Dean since he got injured, driving all of them apart again. It's not a charitable thought, but Roman left all charity out there on the mat. “Roman, is he fucking there, because if he’s not then I’m on the first fucking plane to you, knee or no knee.”

Roman’s mouth quirks in half a smile, because ain’t that just like Seth, to stab them in the back, to complain endlessly at them while he's out injured, and then threaten to come back to them because someone else did exactly what he did.

“He’s in the shower,” he says, softly, but Dean hears, because the water shuts off and Dean appears, dripping wet, no towel hiding his nudity and how he’s half-hard already with thoughts of celebrations.

“Who – Seth.” Dean says, coming over and ripping the phone from his hand, “Told you he’d fucking do it, you damn sellout, I hope – “

He goes silent as Seth clearly explains the last few minutes to him, all the colour draining out of his face. Roman takes that time to study his cuticles and think about how Dean can call Seth 'sellout' with all the affection of 'lover'. It's something pretty unique to them, he thinks.

“Dean – “ Roman starts, but Dean shakes his head, silencing him. Roman might have put Dean back together when he thought that Seth was pulling them apart, but Dean has always known how to pull Roman back together, to tuck all his trailing edges under his skin again and make him feel loved.

“We’ll come to you.” Dean says, and Roman just sinks down onto a bench, head in his hands again, lets the tears start, because it’s almost safe here, “No, Wednesday. After the taping. Until then – yeah, you know what to do.”

He hangs up without saying goodbye, then drops to his knees between Roman’s legs, gripping his calves like Roman might be thinking of running away, like there's anywhere he can go when the most important person in the world is here with him, and they're already arranging to see the second most important.

“He’s right, it’s bullshit.” He says, soft as anything, and then Roman’s holding him, clutching at his hair, head buried in the wet skin of Dean's shoulder, and mouthing spit-wet sobs as his breath heaves and the tears come.

 

When the tears stop, or slow, or something, Dean shoves himself into sweats and a t-shirt, Roman into a hoodie and out of the doors, head bowed, no interviews, no cameras – he’s pretty sure he hears Dean tell one guy to fuck off and then the sound of something breaking, but he can’t think, so full of everything that nothing wants to work out. He wants his brothers back, the way it was, wants to have never had a fucking single’s run, never had Seth leave them, wants to be holding two hands right now, not just Dean’s hand on his knee as he drives them back to the hotel too fast and everything too quiet.

Their room is blessedly quiet, and Dean’s hands stripping him are reward, almost for this, until a piece of red confetti flutters out of Roman’s hair, and the lump is back in his throat. Dean cups his chin and makes him look up, then kisses his, strong and slow and full of everything that Roman can’t bear to hear right now, before he ushers both of them into the shower, cradling Roman’s body in a shower stall not big enough for both of them, but they make it work. Roman’s never been gladder that Dean is taller, the way he feels safe and protected in the cage of Dean’s body, the way it feels familiar and right, though he can’t help but miss the feel of another body at his back. Dean grips him, tightly.

“Wednesday.” He says, and it’s a promise, Roman just has to hold on until Wednesday, just has to keep it together through Raw and the SmackDown taping and then Dean will take him to Seth. Right now, he's telling himself he doesn’t care that Seth did the exact same thing to him, that Seth snatched a victory too, because Seth’s the missing part of their triumvirate of power, the missing body in their bed, the missing piece of him he can’t get past, not right now… but Dean is enough.

Dean has been enough for months, Dean has been the hand he holds, the hair he pets, the one he can say he loves outright on tv and no one bats and eyelid. They’re brothers in the ring and lovers outside of it, and he doesn’t think he’ll ever get tired of having Dean in his life, so he kisses him as hard as he can, trying to convey all of this, trying to say without words that Dean is enough for him, and if he only ever had Dean – that would be enough. All the time they were without Seth, Dean was enough, and he can be that for another few days before they can get to Seth and be whole again.

Dean dries him off, too, gentle with his hair in a way he never is with his own, taking him to bed like he’s something breakable, and Roman can feel the sobs bubbling up again, but Dean won’t have it. He tucks the covers around Roman, who wasn’t aware he was shaking until the moment, then crawls beneath them, his breath hot on Roman’s thigh before he mouths at his dick, trying to get him interested. Roman doesn’t know if he’s capable of it right now, tired and hurting in every way, but Dean’s always been able to get something out of him, some reaction. He feels himself stirring, reluctant, and slips a hand down to Dean’s head, petting his hair gently instead of tugging like he normally would, and lets Dean swallow him down.

Being in Dean’s mouth is – everything, hot and wet and warm, and exactly the same as their celebration would have been, but so much slower. Dean’s moving so slowly it feels like time is stopping, just holding him in his throat and nuzzling his nose into the trimmed hair at the base. He’s not so much sucking as nursing at him, a slow suckle which feels incredible, like he could spend forever just in Dean’s mouth, just here, and never have to come, never have to leave the bed, never have to face the next day and what has just happened. There’s patience to it that just doesn’t normally happen, that means Roman doesn’t feel desperate, hungry, just… safe. Loved. He hardens fully in Dean’s mouth, which means Dean has to draw back a little, unable to take all of him in, but the pace is still unhurried, measured, until he’s just stroking behind Dean’s ear and becomes aware he’s whispering.

“You’re everything, you’re everything, I don’t have nothing, I have everything.”

Dean slowly pulls off him and slips up the bed to hold him for a moment, pressing soft kisses into the dip of his collarbone, the edge of his shoulder, the centre of his sternum. He straddles Roman, and he’s about to say something, but Dean sinks down so easily, so sweetly, and Roman realises he must have been prepping himself in the shower at the arena, ready for a celebratory fuck. This means he’s tight, so tight, like a vice, and Roman’s arching his back at the slow glide, holding Dean’s hips like a lifeline, hard, like he knows he’ll leave bruises, but right now he needs this connection, needs to know that Dean is here, with him, that he won’t be whisked away just as suddenly as the title was. He can’t bring himself to lessen his grip as Dean rides him, slow and steady, the rise and fall of his body lifting the sadness out of Roman’s heart.

“You’ve got me.” Dean says, over and over, “You’ve always got me, I ain’t going nowhere.”

By the time both of them come, their bodies together as one, Roman still holding Dean’s hips and his eyes wide so he doesn’t miss how Dean’s body reacts to him, Roman almost doesn't feel like he lost.


	2. (This Isn't Really) Losing

Their flight gets in early Wednesday morning, because they leave pretty much straight after SmackDown taping and fly through the night. Roman holds Dean’s hand for most of the flight and he doesn’t really give a fuck who sees, even when Dean nods of against his shoulder and drools a little. The more he thinks about it, the harder he squeezes Dean’s fingers, until he’s pretty sure that he’s hurting him. Dean doesn’t complain, though, just keeps flashing Roman sympathetic looks and squeezing his hand gently in return. Standing next to him but not touching him at baggage claim feels interminable, and when a few fans want selfies, he figures he doesn’t do a good job of faking a smile. Dean slings an arm around him for most of the pictures, holding him close, and the thrumming in Roman’s blood says ‘soon’ and ‘almost’.

It’s weird to fly in and not have Seth waiting for them – Roman even looks around for him for a moment before he remembers that Seth can’t drive right now. Can’t really do anything, he remembers, and suddenly he feels guilty as hell for doing this, for heading to Seth and demanding sympathy over losing a belt that he was only really holding for Seth. At least he lost it in a match, even if it was a shitty excuse for one, and after he’d already fought two matches that night. At least he has the chance to win it back. Seth doesn’t have any of that, and here Roman is, trying to make a man who can hardly walk look after him. He grabs at Dean’s arm outside the airport before Dean can hail a cab.

“We should get a hotel,” Roman says, hurriedly, hoping that Dean will hear what he’s saying, will understand. “You know, just… so we don’t bother Seth.”

Dean looks at him, and the expression on his face is pure pity, something that eats at Roman, hurting him rather than making him feel better.

“Ro,” Dean says, low and quiet, like he doesn’t want to spook a frightened animal, using the nickname as if that will be a balm on Roman’s wounded pride, “you’re talking about a man who roomed with us for months, a man who shared beds with us when we were all battered and bruised, who’s seen both of us at our worst. And I had to practically blackmail him not to fly out and see us Sunday night.”

That, if anything, makes Roman feel worse about this, that he’s making enough of a fuss that Seth is worried about him. At a time when not only should he be focusing on himself, but when they haven’t even talked about the shitstorm that was the last time they tried to have sex. When they left Seth crying in the bathroom, when they didn’t realise that he didn’t want to play until it was too late. When Roman called him ‘whore’ like it was supposed to be something nice. He looks at Dean, and whatever his lover sees in his eyes, it can’t be anything good, because he flinches before he can stop himself.

“What the fuck am I doing?” Roman asks, and he can’t tell if he’s directing that question at Dean or himself, and either way, he’s not sure if he wants to know the answer.

“We are seeing our boyfriend,” Dean says, putting the emphasis on the first word, “who you’ve been talking to for the past week, every night, and who has been ignoring me, but will talk to me about which one of us was taking his title.”

His title. Fuck, Roman’s heart breaks a little more, because that was Seth’s title that he lost, out in the ring, under Sheamus. Seth’s title, his little brother’s title, his lover’s title, the thing Seth has wanted to hold in his hands for his entire goddamn life. And Roman couldn’t even keep it for ten minutes.

“His title,” Dean continues, stressing every word, “that he was happy for you to have, and that was his most treasured possession.”

“I get it, okay? I lost his favourite thing. I’ll fly back, this was a fucking stupid idea,” Roman says, turning to head back into the airport when Dean grabs him by the arm.

“No, you’re not listening. His title, Ro,” Dean says, quieter now, holding Roman closer to his body, “and when he called you, he didn’t give a shit about it. He cared about you. He wanted to know how you were. He loves you more than that title, his title.”

Roman draws in a huge, shuddering breath, like he suddenly can’t get enough air, because Seth loves that title – and yet, he hadn’t asked when Roman plans on winning it back. He just wanted to let Roman know that it was a bullshit loss. He doesn’t think he’s ever been that important to anyone before. Dean lets go of his arm, and hails a cab, and all Roman can think is that finally, finally, they’re on their way home.

 

On the way to Seth’s house, Dean gives him a call so he knows when to expect them, and Roman thinks back to the last time he was there, years ago now, when the three of them were just finding their feet as a team. Seth had some bullshit idea for a teambuilding exercise, and they’d dragged their asses out to this nice house, Dean wisecracking the whole time about how the inside would all be painted black, and discovered that their teammate was human after all. In the end, there hadn’t been any teambuilding exercises, because Roman had fallen in love and into bed with the two men who were supposed to work with him, and they had all vowed to help each other rise to the top, and never to betray their team bond. Roman wishes he knew how to be angry with Seth, how to feel anything other than this bone-deep hurt when he thinks about his betrayal, when he thinks about how Seth was the first to bind them as a team, and the first to rip that support system apart from the inside. He knows he shouldn’t still think about it like that, knows Seth regrets it, knows Seth wishes he hadn’t done it – but is that really true? He wonders whether Seth regrets it because of the aftermath, rather than regrets the actual act of betraying them so that he could be the first of the three of them with his hands on that strap. Dean’s hand on his knee jerks him out of the unpleasant daze he’s in, and he jerks his head up.

“We’re here,” Dean says, simply, and gets out of the cab, taking their luggage from the driver and handing over some bills, all the while Roman’s slowly getting out of the cramped back seat and stands, staring at Seth’s house. It looks the same as it had back then; a little neater, perhaps, and the car on the driveway is nicer, but trust Seth to keep something that isn’t great, isn’t perfect, just because it’s his. Roman’s mouth quirks into a smile. Yeah, Seth keeps what’s his, he kept them – and then the smile fades, because Roman remembers that the title was his, too, and he couldn’t keep that. No matter how much he wanted to.

Dean rings the doorbell, and waits the age it seems to take for Seth to get to the door. Roman fiddles with his sleeves and wishes they hadn’t come. Fuck, this is so unfair to Seth, shoving themselves into his house like this, invading his space when he’s recovering. There’s a quiet whuffling from behind the door, where Kevin has beaten Seth to the door, and Roman finds himself imagining the little pup already, bringing a smile to his face even though he feels like there’s a bowling ball in his stomach. Dean takes his hand carefully, like he thinks Roman might make a break for it, and then the door is opening, Kevin barrelling out of the house and into Roman’s ankles, so hard that he takes a step backwards, looking at the little dog. There’s a pair of feet just behind him, bare and brown, and then the cuffs of sweatpants obscure any more of Seth’s legs, but what stands out is the feet of the crutches, too. Roman doesn’t want to look up.

“Hey, gorgeous,” he hears Dean say, and then the sound of a soft kiss, and Roman’s always envied them that, their lack of fear over getting caught. “We had a bit of a rough landing, if you know what I mean.”

“Rome?” Seth asks, and Roman drags his eyes up Seth’s body, past the bulk of the knee brace under sweats, to the black band shirt, up to Seth’s throat, where he once put a collar, as if he could own something as beautiful and powerful as Seth – and doesn’t lift his head any further.

“Hi,” he mumbles, and hefts his luggage. “Where do you want us?”

“Roman, you – “ Seth starts, but out of the corner of his eye, Roman sees Dean shake his head, sharply, and Seth subsides. “Sure. Come in.”

The click-thump of the crutches moving ahead of them is worse when Roman realises that they’ve walked past Seth’s bedroom and are heading towards the guestroom door, Dean shutting the front door behind them, after shooing Kevin in gently with a foot. The guestroom. They’ve never slept in the guestroom at each other’s houses, always shared beds, even when they were injured or hurting. Roman’s absolutely certain that Seth doesn’t want him now, utterly convinced that thy should never have come, that Seth doesn’t want them there, that they’re eating into his recovery time like this. The guestroom is weird, stale with lack of use, and even more sparsely furnished than the rest of Seth’s house, parts of which doesn’t so much resemble a home as a shrine to professional wrestling – or a tomb to it. Roman pretends not to notice the spaces on the walls where Seth has clearly taken down pictures. Probably of the three of them, he probably doesn’t want the reminder that Roman has failed him, failed to keep the belt, beaten Dean but lost when it really mattered.

“Seth….” Dean starts, as Roman drops his bag with a thump, sits down on the edge of the musty bed, and buries his head in his hands. There should be a title in that bag, he should be bringing his lover back a prize. Instead, all he’s brought is himself.

“What do I say?” Seth whispers, and Roman lifts his head.

“You don’t have to say anything,” he says, and watches Seth juggle the crutches a bit, trying to stay standing. He winces, and Roman’s had just about enough. “I’ll get a hotel, you two don’t need to have me here when you don’t want to.”

There’s a deep, uncomfortable silence in which Dean and Seth trade looks before Roman turns his gaze downwards again, and he waits for them to tell him that they do want him, and he should stay Finally, there’s the click-click-thump of crutches heading away, and Roman looks up in time to see the weary shake of Seth’s head.

“Ro, can you just think about this?” Dean asks, as Roman stands up and lifts his bag. Kevin’s usually underfoot, but he hasn’t followed them, that’s probably a bad omen enough for him not to stay. “Seth’s hurting, you’re hurting, and I’m due about three nervous breakdowns after I’ve dealt with you two, will you just fucking sit down?”

“Seth’s hurting because I failed,” Roman snaps, bitterly, and then there’s the sound of crutches heading back towards the guestroom.

“Roman Reigns, you selfish fucking asshole,” Seth snarls at him. “I’m hurting because it’s eight in the fucking morning, I need to eat before I can take my meds, and my boyfriends have kept me standing for too long instead of tumbling me into bed where I belong!”

Roman flinches. He’s been trying not to make this about him, and in doing so… made it all about him, he doesn’t know. Either way, all he’s done is make Seth upset with him, which is pretty much the opposite of anything he had planned.

“Why did you invite Ro here?” Dean questions, and he sounds like he’s talking to a child, which makes Roman want to bare his teeth at him for being so condescending. “Explain in small words, please, because clearly that fucking brogue kick has knocked him stupid.”

Roman does sneer at that, and Dean casually flips him off like he doesn’t care what Roman thinks, like this isn’t important, or… like Roman’s making a fuss out of nothing.

“Rome should know why I wanted him here,” Seth sniffs, because he’s always been allergic to a straight answer.

“Yeah, but like I said, brogue kick.” Dean offers a small smile to Roman, who steels himself for it. He’s going to be told that Seth wanted him here to scream at him for not keeping hold of his title.

“I know what it feels like,” Seth says, at last, after Roman has been worrying the fabric at the knee of his jeans for what feels like an hour. “I know what it feels like, to hold that title, how powerful you feel with it… and what it feels like to have that taken away from you. That was bullshit, what they did to you, bullshit what I did to you, and I’m so, so fucking sorry, Ro. I don’t ever want someone I love to feel like that, and fuck my fucking knee, because I wasn’t there to look after you, to hold you, to keep Hunter from interfering, to hold Sheamus back, to remind you that you deserve more than what they’re doing to you. That’s why I wanted you here. But if you wanna go, or if you don’t want to put up with me when I’m injured then… then I guess I just have to deal with that.”

“Why the guestroom?” Roman asks, before he can stop himself.

“Huh?” Seth asks, and his brow wrinkles. “You guys throw your shit everywhere, I figured you could leave your bags in there so I won’t trip over them when I get up to pee.”

Roman gapes. Seth’s still in the doorway, balanced on his crutches, and so Roman gets up and makes his way to him, moving so he can lift Seth, bridal style, careful not to jostle his knee in its brace. The crutches hit the floor.

“I love you,” he says, solemnly, and kisses Seth’s forehead. “Now, I’m going to carry you to the couch, set you up with cushions and shit, and Dean and I are gonna make you breakfast so you can take those pills, okay babe? And once you’re done with that, I’m going to blow you. Sound good?”

“Mr Romantic here,” Dean grins, as Seth nuzzles into Roman’s shirt and smiles.

“One thing, though,” Roman murmurs, as he settles Seth down onto the couch.

“Yeah?” Seth asks, a little tension in his shoulders, some of the pleased notion of being spoiled leeching from his face.

“Yeah,” Roman says. “When I get that title back, I’m fucking you with it on. Believe that.”

Seth smacks him idly with a hand, but his cheeks are pink, and he looks as smug as Roman’s ever seen him.

“Go get me some bacon,” he says, imperiously, and Roman presses one last kiss to his hair, before he does what he’s told, and goes.

The bacon’s a little burned, one of the eggs breaks, and Dean can’t toast bread to save his life, but it doesn’t matter when they’re all settled on Seth’s couch, gently jostling each other as Seth flagrantly steals bacon off both their plates. They let him, before Roman makes good on his other promise, and gets on his knees. Over the couple of days they have together, they very deliberately don't have sex, and Roman discovers the delights of giving Seth a sponge bath. As he and Dean head out, leaving Seth behind, of course they feel the weight of being without their third, but they did that for a long time under worse circumstances. This isn’t so bad.

“I’m gonna win that title,” Roman says, as he starts the car, and they wave at Seth, the setting sun making him radiantly lit, like all their dreams come true.

“Yeah,” Dean says, bumping his fist gently off Roman’s shoulder. “Yeah, you are.”


End file.
